The General's Mistress by Jo Graham

light.
    “How did you get in here?” I asked the cat.
    A foolish question, since I had left the window cracked. A nimble jumper could get into the second floor from the tree outside. The cat meowed. She turned, and I saw her swollen teats. A nursing mother, or a cat whose litter had been drowned. She butted against my hand.
    I petted her absently. Was it the cat that had woken me? I felt a strange urgency, as though someone had whispered in my ear. Something was wrong. I needed to be on the road.
    I sat up. I needed to be on the road. It was an irrational feeling, but what good had being rational ever done me? I must go.
    I dressed quickly and stowed everything away in my luggage. If Meynier had not found a carriage, I would have to do it myself. There was no time to waste. I had to leave now.
    As I came downstairs, I saw Meynier coming in. He grabbed my arm and steered me away from the landlord’s wife, who was grinding coffee beans with a hand crank. “Thank God I found you! Listen, you must go immediately. There was a man at the inn down the street by the camp this morning, asking after a golden-haired woman. A runaway wife from Amsterdam. Her mother is mad and her husband is hunting for her before she can do herself harm. The authorities are supposed to help, since the poor woman is a menace and needs to be taken quietly back to Amsterdam and a nice comfortable room.”
    I clutched his arm. “No.”
    Meynier nodded. “You’re no more mad than I am. But he’s going to lock you up. And he’s got the law on his side. Is your mother really mad?”
    “As a hatter,” I said grimly. “And everyone knows it. I imagine society has just been waiting for me to go round the bend.”
    “There’s no chance people won’t believe it?”
    “None,” I said. “I have to get out of here.”
    Meynier grinned. “Fill your saddlebags, van Aylde! I’ve got a couple of horses, if you can stick on astride. We’ll send your luggage on ahead and whisk you over the border on horseback. Once you’re in France, they’ll have to apply through official channels to get you.”
    “They will,” I said. “Or they may not wait. Possession is two-thirds of the law. If they take me back by force, will France protest? I have no friends there.”
    Meynier shook his head. “No, then. Not if you have no friends.”
    An idea struck me. I stood up straighter, my hand dropping to my side. Could I do it? I could do whatever I needed to do. “Where is General Moreau’s headquarters?”
    “Menin,” Meynier said. “So?”
    “We’re going to Menin,” I said. “Let me grab my saddlebags.”
    Meynier nodded. “I can go partway with you, at least. I’ll find some food for the road while you arrange with the landlord about your luggage.”
    In less than an hour, we were on the road. Meynier threw me an apple from the saddle, which I caught neatly left-handed. He laughed.
    “Madame Ringeling, you have a fine seat!” Meynier said. “And just what do you propose to do in Menin? Do you know General Moreau?”
    I looked ahead. The road seemed to meet the sky, a trick ofperspective they taught nice girls in drawing classes. “Let’s see if I know him well enough.”

    W e reached Menin the next day. Meynier insisted on coming all the way with me, even though it would make him a day late returning to his post.
    I had no idea what sort of impression I would make on Moreau wearing men’s clothes, but my own dress from the saddlebags was hopelessly crumpled, and my other clothes were following in my trunks. I smoothed my hair down and retied my queue.
    Meynier escorted me as far as the door to the headquarters, then wandered off to loiter and watch the groom seeing to the horses.
    One of the young sentries looked me up and down. I made no attempt to hide my sex, but rather had opened my shirt at the throat. My voice was quite steady. “Please tell General Moreau that Madame Ringeling is here to see him on a matter of some personal